


Nannas Love Sammy

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward, Awkward Crush, Clumsiness, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ghosts, Jealous Dean, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, seance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine you stayed with the Winchesters for a few days post-hunt, and your clumsiness seems to be sending you into Sam’s arms.  But it isn’t you doing it; it’s someone else.  And they got the wrong brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nannas Love Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my tumblr account - littlegreenplasticsoldier.tumblr.com

You chucked your gear down in the library and took a seat. Sam came back with a box of cold pizza and Dean was right behind with a six-pack.

“Oh thank god,” you muttered, “I could eat the fuzz off an old margarita.”

Dean popped the bottles saying “Amen,” and slid them across the table. He offered his for a toast, “To a job well done.”

“Indeed,” you nodded and made sure, as is tradition, to make eye contact for the cheers. You were never sure if he was trying to tell you something with his eyes, but you looked for it anyway.

It was an easy silence as the first few mouthfuls passed, broken by Sam: “So, Dean and I were thinking you could crash here for a bit if you need. Rest up a while.”

You raised your eyebrows… the Winchesters offering you a few days in the bunker? When did your stocks get so rich?

“You sure?” you checked.

“Yeah,” Dean said casually. “You’ve earned it. Saved our asses for one… be nice to have some company too.” His eyes flicked up to you so briefly it was almost cursory. That was when you realised you really were trawling for clues about how he thought of you. You’d been doing it for days – so much so that you couldn’t tell if he looked at you too much or too little. Crap. Wishing Dean Winchester would gaze at you was going to end in nothing but beers.

You munched and thought, taking a moment to tuck that shit away and do a quick visual of what a thoroughly platonic weekend here should look like, and you found yourself nodding. “Okay,” you agreed. “Very generous of you boys.”

“Well, we’re nothing if not generous,” Dean said, still not looking at you. Which didn’t mean anything.

“Cool,” said Sam, smiling at you.

And it was. It would be. You smiled back. Company would be good.

You ate and talked about recent hunts. The pizza was finished, second drinks were opened.

“So, what do you guys do between cleaning and baking?” you asked, stretching your legs out for a bit.

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged. “Movies mostly.”

“Really?” you sat up. “Do you have Guardians of the Galaxy?”

Dean spat his beer a bit. “Okay, you’re staying for as long as it takes to catch you up.”

“I am a-o-kay with that,” you agreed and everyone got up to find a place on the couch in the lounge room.

As you followed Sam, Dean right behind you, you saw him head for a big leather chair on the side, so you found a spot on the end of the couch. Dean sat beside you in the two-seater but as you got comfortable you must’ve tipped your beer, sploshing cold froth all over his jeans.

“Oh shit!” his arms went up.

“Shit! Sorry!” you instantly brushed at his thigh, making no helpful difference and completely unaware of the desperate look he was giving you. “Sorry Dean!” You snatched handfuls of tissues from the box on the coffee table and pressed them above his knee, flat hands either side of his thigh, where the worst of it was, quickly trying to soak up the chilly liquid.

“Oh… no… it- it’s okay Y/N,” he stood up. You worked on mopping the couch, but there wasn’t much to catch. You looked up at him with an apologetic wince and he swallowed deeply. “Changing was on the cards anyway. Back in a minute.” He smiled a tight grimace at you before heading off.

“Damn,” you muttered to Sam. “Well that sucked.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m surprised he hadn’t changed yet anyway.”

Dean returned sometime after the credits and, after testing the spot next to you, he found the other armchair was his driest choice.

It was nice having company while you watched something, getting commentary from Sam and Dean as they watched it again. But by the end it was late and you were all too tired to do anything but go to bed. You stood and stretched noisily, then bent over to picked up your empty bottle. You must’ve had a rush of blood coz you cleanly coconutted Sam as he did the same, both of you groaning from the impact.

“Shit! Sorry!” You groaned. “So sorry Sam! I must be having a clumsy night!” You unconsciously put your hand on his forehead, just for a moment, in a gesture of regret. He smiled up at you.

“No,” he winced, rubbing the spot. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry,” you said again, rubbing your own head now. You turned to see Dean looking at Sam, his eyes quickly shifting to you, flat and stern. You felt like such a muppet – Sam doesn’t need injuries on his days off.

“I’ll show you your room,” Dean said. Poor guy seemed very tired.

You grabbed your bag on the way through the library, hung back behind his shoulder a bit to save him having to talk to you: he seemed grumpy and you didn’t need opportunities to embarrass yourself further. Rounding the corner on one of the corridors, he popped open the door and leaned against the frame.

“I’m just around the corner,” he gestured. “It’s the only door around there. The bathroom is right here.”

“Cool, looks nice,” you said politely.

“You need anything, just knock,” he said quietly and looked straight at you. And you were stuck, looking straight back.

“Will do,” you nodded and give him a small smile. This… this was confusing.

A door slammed behind you, maybe the bathroom, snapping you both out of it. “Draughty,” you shrugged.

“Not… really,” Dean frowned at the corridor, “but I guess it could be. Anyway,” he stood back to go, “I’ll let you get some shut eye.”

“Thanks. ’Night,” you said, giving the most respectful smile you could muster.

“’Night,” he answered and half waved as he walked away.

The next day was much the same. Pleasant conversation with Dean, friendly conversation with Sam. A welcome distraction was that treasure trove of a library. Hunches and theories you’d collected over the years were hashed out in hours. Sam had his own projects, mainly notes for files, and Dean was working on some digital cataloguing of the archives. It meant you spent hours in silence together, the odd comment or advice, a break for food, but by dinner you were all short-sighted and aching. You’d even managed to maintain a healthy platonic distance from Dean and had were reasonably confident he’d detected nothing.

What you couldn’t shake were your new found butterfingers. Or butterfeet – _everything!_ Dropping a book on Sam’s foot was the height of embarrassment; dropping one next his hands was a close second since it made everyone jump and curse. Then, late in the afternoon, you’d come across something you thought Sam might need and got up to show him.

“Hey Sam,” you said as you came around the table, “do you need-“ and you tripped on _nothing_ and sprawled over him in his chair. Thankfully your book hit the table, but after you smeared your boobs across his poor face you ended up in his lap, staring at the ceiling.

“Just…” you tried to speak. “…a moment of silence for my pride, please.”

Sam was stunned but chuckled, “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you said as he helped you stand and you shifted your shirt back to centre. “Gravity is against me today. You didn’t get concussed by my ginormous bazoongas?”

“No, I’m good,” he laughed.

The sound of Dean’s book hitting the table made you both jump and he was at the door already, muttering “I’m gonna start dinner.”

“What did you want to show me?” Sam asked.

“Just this – God, I am freezing – this page looked relevant,” you flicked back to the content you’d found and walked back to your seat, beginning to pack up your books and find their places on the shelf. Sam let you manage all the heavy items by yourself this time.

“Yeah, it is,” he said, reading over the script. “Thanks Y/N.”

And that was pretty much the highlight of your stay so far: You’d had good company and been useful to them. It feel a little foolish to be so chuffed at the thanks, but fuck it, thanks is nice. Much nicer than the inelegant farting around your stupid coordination had been doing whenever you were in arm’s reach of someone. Thank goodness they’d seen you fight, coz if this had been your first impression they would’ve have let you light a match.

By the time you’d retrieved a sweater from your room, Dean had the table half set and drinks were out again.

“Hey, it’s lasagne tonight,” Dean asked cheerfully. “Do you like wine, Y/N?” He seemed to have gotten a second wind.

“You have wine, Sir?!”

“I’ll have you know,” he said with aplomb, “this joint has a cellar. So yes, we have excellent wine.”

“Of course it does!” you grinned. “And of course I will. We should!”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I have in on that!”

Dean dashed off to dig up a bottle of red and a few glasses. He returned with a dusty cleanskin and you all errmed and aaahed about piquey tannins and robust bouquets and shit. When he went back to dish up the meal, you started on the bottle. All things considered, you should’ve left it to Sam, but surely looking like a moocher was worse that maybe being clumsy again. Thankfully, the cork came out smoothly. Dean brought in the serves and sat at the end of the table across from Sam, you between them at the head.

You began to fill Sam’s glass and Dean watched as your whole arm shifted forward a few inches, beyond the glass completely and poured wine onto the table. Sam gasped and pushed his seat back.

“Ohno!” you cried, stopping instantly. “Sam-“

“Goddammit!” Dean burst out, glaring at you. He pushed his chair back and if he’d had a napkin he would’ve thrown it on the table. “What the hell are you doing Y/N?!”

“Dean, it was an accident,” Sam defended.

“Unless she’s got issues with depth perception, it the hell was not,” he barked.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you said cautiously, unmoving and worried. You had no idea how your elbow seemed to just overreach all by itself.

“You did!” Dean pointed. “You clean missed the glass from the get go! What’s going on?”

“I dunno,” you started, beginning to think about the day, “Really Dean, it’s not me! This whole weekend has been so stupid! I haven’t been this clumsy in, like, ever!”

Dean looked at you incredulously, almost hurt and you suddenly hoped to hell that he didn’t think you were lying to him. “You know what?” he said, collecting himself, hands up in surrender, “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled up his chair and picked up his knife and fork. “You just do whatever and I’ll be fine.”

“Seriously Dean,” you tried again. “It’s not me… I mean, it’s not like me.” Sam had gone to get a towel or something and you were still glued to the spot with the bottle in your hand.

“Whatever, Y/N,” Dean said around his food. “You just do your thing.”

You sighed heavily and placed the bottle on the table with both hands. As you took your seat Dean instantly got up, but only to get a beer, apparently. You let Sam pour the wine and you all sat in silence for the beginning of the meal.

The idea that Dean thought you would lie to him, for what you couldn’t figure, weighed on you heavily and made you feel queasy. As much as you didn’t know them that well, you respected them immensely.

Minutes passed, and when Sam didn’t talk either you began to worry he felt the same as Dean. How far was it to the nearest motel..?

“So, you wanna watch another movie tonight?” Sam asked politely. “Or sometimes we play poker.”

Dean finished his food and snatched up his beer before slumping back in his chair.

“I don’t mind,” you said as lightly as possible. “Whatever you guys feel like is fine.”

“Reading alone in my room sounds pretty good,” Dean muttered.

You looked at your empty plate and bit your lips together. You were positive you hadn’t done anything wrong, but if this was the weather for the evening you were sure as hell staying indoors. “Yeah, I could do an early night,” you said curtly. Sam sighed through his nose and you added “Dinner was good, thanks.”

You all stood, Sam collecting the plates, you gathering the glasses and Dean with just his beer. As you turned toward Sam you felt Dean shove you in the back. You both managed to get the breakables out from between you before you face-planted into Sam’s broad chest, cutlery hitting the floor.

“Fucking hell Dean!” you said loudly, but not so loud you didn’t hear Sam’s scolding “Y/N!” like some older brother.

You turned to Dean. “What d’you do that for?” you scowled, hoping you didn’t sounding as whiny as you felt.

“Seriously?” Dean turned at you, doing pissy quite convincingly. “You’re going to say I pushed you? How pathetic can you get?”

“I _felt_ your hand on my back!” you ground out. “Asshole!”

He leaned over you, and you drew breath at the closeness. “I didn’t goddam touch you!” he matched your tone.

“Yes you _did_!” you didn’t back down, “because you’re being a jerk!”

“Okay,” Sam cut in, “let’s just calm down a bit.”

“I didn’t throw myself at you Sam,” because you knew damn well what was being suggested. You turned to look at him, without any idea of how to seem earnest when you were so embarrassed and shitty.

“Okay,” he conceded putting the plates down, “maybe you tripped-“

“The hell I did! He pushed me!” you yelled, pointing at Dean, who dropped his hand on his thigh in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! If I could send you to the naughty corner-“

“Screw you!” you said defiantly. “I haven’t done anything wrong! It’s _not me_!”

“Whatever!” he declared and turned to leave.

“No, wait! Dean!” you had thought of something, and hoped. “It’s not me! I was cold!”

“You tripped over coz you were cold?” Sam was confused.

“No,” you looked at him in realisation. “I was cold because something pushed me… Can ghosts get in here?”

Dean scoffed. “Wow, that’s a reach-“

“Shut up Dean!” you bit. If your crush was going to lose all respect for you, you may as well state your mind. “Have you guys ever done a séance?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, their faces giving away very little, but they seemed to be weighing up the chances of you being right.

“They’re risky,” Sam explained. “You don’t always get who you want and they’re not always nice.”

You frowned at the ground and tried to think logically.

“If you had an artefact, we might be able to call someone specifically,” Dean offered. You took a deep breath, unbelievably grateful that they were considering your theory.

“The only thing I have is a locket, of course,” you shook your head at the stupidity as you pulled the long chain from your shirt. How many spirit-heavy keepsakes had you dealt with in this lifetime? You should’ve known better.

The boys cleared the dinner things, pulled out a few more beers and set up a Ouija board. Amongst the items on the table were a fireplace poker, for the iron, and a canister of salt. You prised open the locket and looked at the photos of your great aunt and grandmother. “This’ll be a first for me,” you said. “This is it, the only thing I have from anyone.”

“Your nannas?” Dean looked over your shoulder. You felt his breath on your neck and noticed how much softer his voice had become.

“My mom’s mom and her sister. They were excellent. Bess was one of those bluestocking trail-blazers. Nanna was the same, but on the home front.”

You dropped the locket onto the board and took your place.

“Well, it might come to nothing,” Sam offered, “but it’s the best way to be sure without burning something you love.” He arranged a few things in a copper bowl, lit a candle and you all put your fingers to the glass.

“I can’t believe we’re using a Ouija board,” you muttered. “What do I do?”

“Just start talking,” Sam shrugged.

You peered at the glass and hoped. “Is Bess here?… or Flo?”

The glass whipped from your fingers, straight to ‘Yes’. Holy cow it worked fast. Your hair stood so tall you could feel it poke through your jeans. You swallowed deeply and scrambled for a question. “Uh… Nanna Flo? Are you ok?”

The glass shifted from Yes, but not far, and stopped. “Okay,” you breathed, “fair enough… What’s going on?” And you shrugged apologetically at Sam at your so very vague question.

Then the glass began to slide over the alphabet… s. a. m. s, l, o, v, e, l – which is when you began to moan – y. The glass came to rest on ‘Yes’ again and you knew it was a question. “AaawNanna!” you put your hands on your head and let them slide down to your cheeks. “Are you matchmaking me?!”

The glass slipped away and then back to Yes.

“No!” Dear sweet Jesus on toast. “No! Nanna! I love you,” you were pleading at the glass, “I love you so much but you’re meant to be gone! You can’t do this!” You knew, from the corner of your eye, Sam had gone bright red. Dean just looked awkward. Then, as much as you didn’t want it to, the memory of her soft hugs and cheeky eyes came back to you and you felt your chin wobble in response. “Nanna,” you whispered, “you’re not supposed to be here… please, you have to go.”

You wiped your eyes a little and noticed the glass had shifted off Yes, so you tried again. “Please Nanna, I’m fine. I’m happy. Surely you’ve seen that I’m happy, yeah? I’m fighting and winning just like you wanted… And I’m fine… I don’t want to be with Sam.” You looked at him sideways muttering “Sorry Sam.” He frowned and shook his head slightly; no offence taken.

The glass began to traverse the board and your concern soon turned into mortification _again_ , as it spelled out n-o-t-d-e-a-n.

“You’ve been wat-!” you stopped, biting your tongue. “Okay, we’re not talking about this… I can’t believe you’re trying to hook me up with a guy!” - you were beginning to lecture now, - “Of all the people! You know I don’t need a man!” but the glass interrupted you and spelled out l-o-v-e before settling on Yes again.

“Yeah, Nanna,” you rubbed your eyes, “I know, I _know_ love is important. I know people need it. But friendship is a kind of love too and… if you’ve been watching… you know that’s pretty good in this life.”

The board was quiet. You felt like you’d been crying, even though you hadn’t actually broken tears. Nanna or not, though, it was time to do the right thing. “If I ask you, Nanna, will you go?” Nothing answered. “Do you want my help?”

Yes said the glass. You sighed deeply and gathered up the locket. Flicking open your pocket knife, you carefully hinged the point behind your nanna’s picture. It was brittle and you winced as it crisply popped out from its oval frame, and there was a lock of blonde hair curled neatly against the silver. You hadn’t even known about it but you began to wonder how far you would’ve gotten without her…

Sam passed you the lighter. “I love you Nanna,” you said wetly, “I love that you’ve watched over me. I am so grateful, and honoured, and I feel so loved. Thank you.” You dropped the threads of hair over the flame, watching them curl and singe. And then, you could tell, it was just the three of you.

Sam and Dean waited until you’d gone – until they’d heard a few doors close – before they started talking.

“Well, that was the most awkward thing I’ve seen in a while,” Dean sighed, taking a swig of beer.

Sam made a face, sucking on his teeth. “Yeah, poor Y/N,” he agreed. “I was more distracted by her embarrassment than the actual spirit in the room… She dealt with it, though, really well.”

Dean nodded quietly “Yeah, she did good. …But, _Sammy_ , she doesn’t want you,” he tsked. “Tough break.”

“Course she doesn’t want me,” he laughed. “She wants you!”

Dean peered at him and decided to tread carefully. “What makes you say that?”

Sam thought about his hunch. “Well… with you she flips between really friendly and indifferent. And this time, she watched everything you did for the first three days, and hasn’t looked at you since she got to the bunker. Avoided you completely.”

Dean frowned seriously, not seeing how that makes math.

“Because you won’t look at her,” Sam explained flatly, waiting for the penny to drop. “You saw how she said ‘Friendship’s pretty good if you can get it’? She’s playing it safe.”

Nothing.

Sam huffed. “You numbnut. What if I said ‘Go and talk to her’ and patted you on the shoulder?”

Dean’s dawning face went blank for a moment. “Yeheah,” Dean shrugged casually. “I’ll talk to her! I’ll just… give her some time…” so he could figure out what the hell to say.

You should’ve guessed one of them would come knocking, but finding Dean there was a surprise.

“Hi,” you peeped.

“Hey,” he smiled and leaned against the doorway again. “How you doing?”

“Yeah, fine,” you shrugged. “I’m okay. I’m not… I mourned my Nanna a long time ago, you know? I wish she’d wrapped it up back then, but she didn’t seem that messy so I’m just trusting she’s been okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean thought about it, “she wasn’t all over the shop like some of them get. She seemed happy.”

“Yeah,” you agreed and smiled at him for being thoughtful.

“She’d be happier if you got laid, obviously,” he added casually.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Obviously, coz what nanna is happy unless her granddaughter’s getting it on… although I don’t know what she thinks is going to happen. The best a hunter can hope for is essentially a friend-with-benefits arrangement.”

Dean nodded and swallowed, his eyes shifting to your room and your suitcase. He licked and chewed his lip in thought. So you added, to reassure, “Which isn’t that bad. I mean, it’s our best, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, “that’s what we do. Our best.” He smiled at you, a little sad. “But Sam’s not for you…” he reminded, watching your reaction.

“Nope,” you sighed, “that lovely man is not for me.”

He was trying to keep his face neutral as he tested the waters: “And not Dean either.”

This time you let yourself look at him, properly, and not hide a thing. “Well… not for Nanna.” You saw the edge of his lips pull back juuuust a little and caught the sparkle in his eye as hope settled in.

“She’s right though,” he said ruefully, pulling himself back, “I’m no good. I’m moody and grumpy and demanding…”

“Yeah,” you snorted sarcastically, “it’s a real crime to have emotions, and hopes, and standards.” But you were finding it hard to talk in general terms now. “…Do you think we’ll work together again?”

“Yeah, I hope so,” he said honestly. “That’s what was so frustrating about the clumsiness thing: you’re a freaking ballerina when you hunt. It’s why we asked you along.”

“Aw, thanks,” you said, a little shyly, and then you fessed up, completely forgetting you were actually talking to Dean about Dean. “Well, I can’t imagine you getting more distracting than you are already… and I can’t imagine a better man-”

And suddenly he’d pushed off the doorframe and leaned in. He paused, barely a second, before you felt him on your lips, warm and soft and smelling of an intimate aroma you’d only gotten wafts of during hunts. He stopped, but didn’t back off, and without opening your eyes you mindlessly said “uh… yes.”

He kissed you again, all the contact in your lips and nose and you could feel him smile against you.

“Nice to know you’re not being watched this time?” Dean asked. You looked at him, almost frozen by a face that you’d gazed at so many times now looking straight at you because he actually wanted to see you.

You cleared your throat. “Mmm, you know I didn’t check Bess’ side of the locket,” you realised. “If someone smacks you on the ass, that’s her.”

He laughed lowly, “I hope feisty runs in the family,” and he followed as you began to walk backward.

He flung the door closed before swooping down on you, his hands sliding around your waist and onto your back as he pressed your body into his and kissed you deeply. You both inhaled sharply at the sensation, your kiss open and wet and hot, and your hands skidded up his chest to his neck and jaw, pulling him close to you as he bent you back. He gave a short moan, shifting a hand to the back of your neck and broke away to breathe, both of you gasping. You pushed yourself straight but he wouldn’t let you go.

“God, Dean,” you puffed, “when did you decide you might want to kiss me?”

“About four months ago,” he confessed, staring at your lips.

“Why the hell didn’t you?”

“Coz you didn’t seem interested.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheek and watched his eyelashes dance up and down as he took in your features. “Well… I was distracted,” you admitted.

“Yeah? By what?” he asked, beginning to lean in again.

“By imagining what you wanted to do to me,” and you kissed his mouth as he muttered “Fucking hell Y/N”.

Apparently the starter gun had gone off. His hands ran up and down your sides moving in symmetry. You could barely concentrate on his mouth with him mapping you out so firmly. He felt the size of your ribs, his thumbs wisping up over your breasts, before coasting back down your waist again, his fingers surfing the curves of your ass to the tops of your thighs before lifting you up to wrap your legs around him. Expecting to head for the bed, you were surprised when your back met the hard door, both of you almost bouncing from the force. He pressed you there and you tried to hold yourself up around his hips as your hands grabbed at his shirt.

It was so hard to focus on more than one thing at a time, especially when it felt so thrillingly new. His mouth on your neck was electric. You had no idea what noises you were making. Little things kept breaking through: his short hair against your cheek, his little moans and grunts as he found new places on you, his breath tickling your neck and ear, the size of his hands, even his damn ear brushing on your own… Then the big things, like his straining jeans, ramming you against the door, his heat and eclipsing breadth, the enveloping size. The months of not meeting anyone worth your while, and then not meeting anyone as good as him… this was waking parts of you that had respectfully waited for too long, and each was racing to get its itch scratched.

And then he kissed you, deeply, and for some reason you hadn’t gotten to this yet but his tongue, his _tongue_ , it licked you hello like some sort of preview and your mind raced away with what could be coming. You opened your eyes just to watch him.

“Clothes,” you said, beginning on his buttons.

“Yeah,” he agreed quickly and let you put your feet down so you could both toe off your shoes - your lips bungeed to each other whenever you lost contact - then socks. You popped your jeans off while he worked on his own, both of you edging toward the bed as you stepped out of your pants. You helped him with his shirt buttons before breaking the kiss so he could wrangle off your sweater and top as one. He worked on your bra, pausing everything to dive into your cleavage once it was free. “T-shirt!” you said, dragging the hem up his back before he could distract you too much, “Dean, t-shirt!”

“Mumph,” he agreed and yanked it over his head before pulling you flush against him, the delicious smoothness of him against your skin, and turning you both around to sit you on the bed. You crawled backwards on your elbows, just enough to get your feet off the ground.

“Wait,” you muttered, realising you were in your room so of course he wouldn’t know where to find a condom. Some ruffling and you were back, placing the packet on the bedside table, scootching back to your spot. Dean leaned over you and smiled. You ran fingertips up his belly, letting it bump over the smooth dunes, then ran them down his ribs. You watched them coast over the ripples and head for the top of his hip and down the seam of muscles –

Dean sucked on his teeth and lunged for the packet, sitting back to tear it open and slip the rubber over himself mumbling “I can’t… you’re just…”

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and rubbed his hand on your knee before encouraging it aside.

He settled between your legs and laid his weight over your torso, propping his elbows by your shoulders. The frantic pace of before had ebbed for the moment. He brushed your hair aside.

“There’s a lot I’ve imagined doing to you,” Dean confessed.

Not smiling was about as realistic as keeping your heart still. “Anything you can say to my face?” you asked.

“Aha, oh don’t you doubt it, you’ll hear them all,” he murmured, his eyes travelling down to your cleavage smooshed against him.

“We should compare notes,” you suggested. “What’s at the top of your list today?”

He hovered over you, sighing a grunt as he shifted his weight and you felt him nudge your entrance. The head moved up, easily slipping between your folds and resting there. As warm as he was, that heat was still distracting. You stared into his eyes – little else being in your view – and watched him watch you be distracted.

“I want,” he began, words steady, deep and gentle, “to taste you on my tongue. I want you to groan because of what I’m doing to you.“ - Soap on a rope that voice ran over you like warm water - “I want you to gasp for me and grab at me, watch you over me, I want you every which way you can imagine, Y/N. I want to do the whole fuckin alphabet with you. But…” he got a little closer, lips touching yours as he spoke, “I think those things can wait.”

“Mmm?” you swallowed dryly.

“Yeah, do you mind?” he asked, down to a whisper.

It took a moment for your brain’s little hamster to get up to speed again…“I don’t mind,” you rasped, realising he was asking for something vanilla, something simple and soon. You smiled at him, “Come on friend, let’s set the standard.” You tilted your pelvis, and he dropped down a little, to right where you wanted him.

Without even a nod or a noise, Dean moved forward and into you, as far as possible, until you couldn’t breathe in any more. With a slight nudged at depth, he pulled out at the same rate, and then in, like a compromise between the wait you’d normally get on first plunge and the speed he’d prefer to be doing. It was desperately delicious. You could feel _every_ thing – veins, sliding skin, bulb, broad base - porn in braille.

“I dare you to keep this speed,” you whispered, your chin rising up as he pushed you back.

His eyebrows twitched and you could see him almost bite at the dare out of reflex, but he thought better of it. “Maybe one day, when you deserve to be taught a lesson, I’ll bring that up again,” he leaned down, having pulled almost completely out, and nibbled around your ear. He sucked on the lobe, kissed down your neck and licked the dip. “But you’ve actually been very good today,” he continued, kissing across to your shoulder, “very good. Reaching up to high shelves, leaning over piles of books, you even gave Sammy a freebie-“

“Ooooh, that was terrible!” you moaned, beginning to wriggle against him. Having him there doing nothing was like trying to hold candy on your tongue.

He laughed a little, coming up to kiss your chin. “Well, you don’t need punishing today,” he ducked back down to the muscle up the other side of your neck, “and neither do I.”

He nudged his chin against you, turning your head and then planted a biting kiss on your neck as he rammed into you. You cried out in surprise, your hands grabbing onto the back of him, his waist, his neck, anything you could reach as he pumped and pushed. Each time he thrust into you, you ached noisily. Soon you began to ride it, give it back and tilt with him. You’d meet him in the air, hearing him grunt when you did, his hand snatching your ass in response.

The more you moved against him, worked out his rhythm and complimented the angle with your own, the more noise he made and you were loving distracting him like this.

“Y/N” he puffed, “stop it!”

“What?” you asked cheekily, angling your head to try and see him. Obviously he wanted to be in charge. He lifted himself up and growled “I’m about to take back the punishment thing.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, “want me to dare you again?”

Dean’s face changed, like he’d been waiting for you to give him a good reason. All at once, he reached down and placed a flat hand just above your pubic bone, pushing your g-spot down and holding your pelvis against the bed, and began slamming into you relentlessly. Your hands snapped to the back of his neck and you pushed your head against the bed as you cried out at the brilliant feeling of him dragging himself against you, back and forth, over and over, skipping the climb and going straight for the peak. Both of you jolted from the short, aggressive action, the sound of wet, smacking skin barely making it to your ears.

The speed was brutal. You had no idea where your orgasm was – probably still putting its shoes on – but you weren’t ready for this much so soon. Dean kissed you, leaning some weight and pinning you down as you gasped and grabbed, begging his name higher and higher.

You tried one last defiant effort, cupping his face for a generous kiss as you clenched your floor muscles around him. He moaned against your mouth, twice, pleading “God! Y/N! Fuck!” before giving in and coming undone. Then he mercifully dipped his thumb down and flicked over your buzzing nub. You shuddered and let out a trembling cry as you came after him, both of you soon slowing, then rocking into the aftermath, eventually coming to a stop.

Dean put his hands either side of your shoulders and rested his head on your chest, still holding his weight off you. You absently stroked his hair as you both tried to calm your breathing and quieten. He rocked his hips from side to side, letting you lengthen your legs and stretch out your hip joints one at a time.

“That was,” you tried to say, “That was…”

“Yeah,” he grunted as he tucked his arms under your waist and slipped down a little, his cheek on your sternum, “that’s going to be fun to top.”

“Hmmm,” you rested your hand on his cheek.

You let you mind’s eye run over your body, imagining the sight of him layered over you, your legs framing his hips, and all that slippery smooth contact you could feel between you.

At some point you noticed it had been a while. And then you noticed the feeling of his eye lashes flicking against your skin. He was awake… and thinking.

Just as you were beginning to feel like you should lay down some cheesy joke to ease the tension-

“I interrupted you before,” he said quietly.

“Mmm? When?” you asked, your thumb stroking his shoulder when you spoke.

“You were saying you couldn’t imagine a better man to something,” he propped his chin on you, looking up. “To what? To distract you, for hunting with?”

“No,” you idly caressed again, but didn’t make eye contact. “That was the whole sentence: I can’t imagine a better man.”

He didn’t move, and you kept your gaze on the wall beside you until you couldn’t bare it anymore. You tucked a forearm behind your head and looked down at him, saying “You’re probably going to make some crack about the quality of my imagination, but you should wait until we’ve hooked up a few more times before you judge it.” You smiled, then winked, breaking through his reverie and making him smirk too. He scrambled up to plant a kiss on you and curled you into him for a hug that lasted a good eight hours.


End file.
